An Affair in Belgrade
by Noxinina
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is over his head in Belgrade, with more than just dismantling the Serbian side of Moriarty's network post-Reichenbach. After being dragged from a drug den by an elusive not-so-Serbian woman, Sherlock's mission becomes more complicated. Will he ever return to 221B? And will the mysterious woman be with him?
1. Chapter 1

Hullo! Looks Like You've stumbled on my Fic! Well I hope you all read it and like it, its going to be an epic one (length wise, but i hope in popularity also!) Please leave fave's and reviews as they're much appreciated by me! They help keep me going as a writer! Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Sherlock series except for my own characters I've created here. The first few chapters may be a little slow as I set some things up, so bare with me!  
Nox

An Affair in Belgrade

Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes had died 4 months ago, officially. Of course it was just a clever trick, exceedingly clever in fact. He needed to go undercover for an extended

period of time, and it would only be more inconvenient if he was known to be alive. The obvious answer was to kick off for a few years; however it was all

proving to be worthless.

_The Great Detective_, Sherlock thought to himself, _lying in a drug den somewhere in Belgrade. John would be ashamed._ He continued to stare moodily at the ceiling,

as he had for the past 3 hours. _If I could just find a lead I wouldn't be here in the first place._ His hands were steepled under his chin, all-be-it twitching from the

heroin he'd injected. His mind was not clearing as much as he wanted it to, but that wasn't surprising; it never did clear as much as it had the time before.

There had been no leads, no trail, no nothing, for a month, and it was killing him.

"Bored!" he shouted, slamming his head back into the filthy bare mattress he was laying on in an old abandoned building. Several pairs of unseeing eyes

glazed over him, but one pair of dark green ones sought his lank figure alone amongst the multitude of junkies strewn over the floor.

Her eyes focused in on him, noting the growth of his beard and length of his hair, the way his clothes were too large where they obviously fit before, and the

pack of almost empty cigarettes lying next to him. She sighed. This was going to be much more work than she thought.

The sharp sound of heels clicking against the old concrete floor agitated him, _probably just some common prostitute looking for a fix_, he thought, and his mind

quickly returned to John. _I wonder what he's doing at 221B without me, most likely nothing of importance, probably something dreadfully dull like working at some _

_little clinic or another. Those heels are coming closer._ His eyes snapped open, glazed over as they were; they took in the woman suddenly standing above him in

an instant.

"Are you going to deduce me Mr. Holmes? Or are you too high for that?" She asked in a heavy Serbian accent, her brow was lifted as she watched the man

catalog her every detail. Her hand was on her hip as she leaned down over him.

Sherlock's eyes focused in on the woman's face, she was beautiful, but in a way that was understated, as if she herself were trying to downplay her features;

strange for a woman to do, he thought, meaning she wants to remain relatively unnoticed, suggestive of deceit.

"I already have." He looked up at her expectantly, his fingers tingling from his high.

"And what have you discovered?" She smirked, looking down at "The Great Detective", or so everyone called him, she wasn't so sure as of yet. His eyebrows

rose quickly as he stared at the woman leaning over him, she was intriguing, to say the least.

"You're Serbian, although only half, most likely your mother's side judging by your features. Wealthy, and independently so, you very rarely do hard labor, your

hands are smooth and your nails are either recently done or immaculately kept. Former drug user yourself, you've covered up the scars on your arms with

makeup; possibly Heroin, most likely Cocaine. Your hair is pinned up professionally, meaning you most likely work in an office; however your makeup looks fresh

but not overdone, meaning you work irregular hours, judging from the fact that it's close to four in the morning. Most likely a PA for a government official

judging by the security card poking out of your purse." He smirked, daring her to challenge him.

"Excellent Mr. Holmes, you've seen everything I wanted you to see." She smiled at him, with a look on her face that plainly showed she had won the game. His

eyebrows furrowed as quickly as they had risen, and he stared deeply at her for a moment, his eyes calculating her every inch. There was something off,

something he was missing, he could feel it, he just couldn't see it.

"With respect, you're not going to get anywhere dismantling the Serbian side of Moriarty's network lying here getting high. Plus you need a bath." Her nose

wrinkled at him, and she stepped back, giving him room to get up. She moved both hands to her hips while she stared at him, tapping her foot against the

concrete, creating an irritating echo in the large room that drove Sherlock up the wall.

"Come on, you're not going to get anywhere without my help." She stated with her green eyes tinged with just a hint of arrogance.

"If I get up will you stop doing that?" He asked dryly, shooting her with a look that overflowed with disdain. What was he missing? There was something about

this woman he couldn't see.

"If you get up," she repeated slyly, a smirk tracing her lips. Sherlock groaned as the soiled mattress sunk under the shifting of his weight. He bounced up onto

his feet, and stepped into the woman's personal space. His nose was mere inches from hers when he hissed,

"Did my brother send you?" his hands quivered, and his eyes dilated in anger only a high could bring on so quickly. His breath panted against her skin, but her

stare did not waver from his, he noticed vaguely the flecks of brown in her eyes.

"Come now Mr. Holmes, I don't have the rest of the morning to wait out your high, so this would all move much faster if you just do what I say." she raised her

eyebrows, her head tilted and noting his shaking hands. Sherlock's eyes narrowed_, who the hell does she think she is?!_ His mind snapped. He flexed his fingers

in an effort to calm the shaking.

"Did. My Brother. Send you." He spat. The last thing he needed was Mycroft sending his goons in because he couldn't execute a simple task.

She stared at him deeply for a few seconds, gave out a small sigh of frustration, then answered him in a slightly lower voice,

"Mycroft doesn't know I'm here, but he will if you keep throwing a tantrum." She suddenly reached down, took his hand and began to drag him out of the room.

He let out an audible hiss as he yanked his hand away from hers.

"Don't be a baby Mr. Holmes," she said with an eye roll, although she didn't attempt to grab his hand again.

"I am perfectly capable of walking by myself; I don't need to be dragged along like a child." He glared at her, he had no clue who this woman was, but she

seemed to know most everything of importance about him.

"You're behaving like a child." She let out an exasperated sigh, as if this whole business of dragging Sherlock Holmes out of a drug den was entirely

exhausting. She turned on her heel and walked out, without so much of a backwards glance to the man now standing by himself in the middle of the room.

He watched her walk from the den, utterly confused, and completely stoned. He was no longer entirely sure she was Serbian, although certainly she contained

at least some Serb. She knew who he was immediately, knew of Moriarty's network and his brother, and seemed almost completely unconcerned with him. He

glanced around the room, addicts lay strewn about the cold concrete, lying next to the needles he had sought out so desperately just two hours before. _What _

_was she doing here? Why did she think that she of all people could help him, "The Great Detective"?_ He gave a very long and very annoyed sigh, then proceeded to

stalk out of the room after her, endeavoring to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

Note from the Author: Just a disclaimer that I own nothing to do with the Sherlock Holmes series (although I wish I did!) Thanks for the views and please do leave reviews for me! They're really motivating as a writer! This chapter's quite a bit longer than the first, and I hope you all enjoy it!

Nox

An Affair in Belgrade

Ch. 2

Sherlock stepped out onto the damp pavement after her, his curiosity was burning and he could hear John chiding,

"Curiosity killed the cat, Sherlock" in his mind.

"Shut up, John! I know what I'm doing!" he shouted at himself as he ran his hands through his hair aggravatedly. Belgrade was still fast asleep, but only for a

few more hours. The woman was facing the street, and he read the tension in her back. A sleek black car was running quietly on the street across from her; a

window rolled down and a very large bald man in a suit spoke in a strong Serbian tongue. Sherlock adapted quickly to languages and had picked up Serbian in

a matter of hours.

"What are you doing Svet? Get in the car, now!" The bald driver had demanded. _Svet? His mind questioned, as in Svetlana?_ The tension in her back seemed to

disappear as she walked calmly to the car, leaned into the window, and spoke in hushed, rapid fire Serbian with the driver. The man shot many glances as

Sherlock, who had sulked back into the shadow of the building, the dawn just starting to tint the sky over the abandoned rooftops. Finally the man seemed to

agree to something, as he gave a low grunt and rolled the window up. She glanced at Sherlock and then got into the car, leaving the door open.

_I guess that means I'm allowed to get in_ he mused to himself in a bitter tone, he detested tagging along. He sauntered over and dropped inside the car with a

groan. He shut the door and looked over at the woman, who was sitting ramrod straight as her thumb raced over her mobile, she had angled it slightly under

her thigh so that the driver could not see her.

_**Don't speak, he will be able to tell you're not Serbian**__, _the message read, and as soon as his eyes flicked over the screen she had deleted it. She slid the

mobile into her bag and then folded her hands properly in her lap, never making eye contact with him. Sherlock attempted to look out the window to get a

bearing on his location, but the windows were too tinted to see anything clearly.

By his estimate, and he was almost never wrong, they had been driving for at least an hour and were headed south. The car pulled onto what seemed to be a

long narrow drive, judging by the difference in texture of the road they were now driving on. _Not gravel, but some sort of Cobblestone_, _judging from the grooves, _

_so a private residence I assume, and a wealthy one at that. Given that we have been driving South, I suspect we are in an urban part of Dedinje, the wealthiest _

_neighborhood in Belgrade. _Sherlock looked again at the woman sitting straight in her seat across from him. _Who __**is**__ she?_ His mind ran through the list of possible

occupations, _some sort of secret agent maybe? No she wouldn't have the security guard_, he noted the driver who was quite obviously carrying a double stacked

handgun. The car pulled to a halt and she stepped out quickly.

"I assume you will have the utmost discretion that he is currently at this residence, wont you?" She spoke fiercely to the man in the driver's seat, and her voice

was cold. Her back was straight and her nails flashed in the early light as she slipped ten 5,000 Dinar notes into his hand from her purse. This was not the

same woman who had attempted to drag him from a drug den just an hour earlier. Sherlock's brow furrowed as the driver spoke again, casting another look in

Sherlock's direction.

"Of course." He grunted. She nodded once, and then walked towards the complex of obviously expensive flats. Sherlock followed her rather huffily; he was not

a follower, that was John's job. He needed someone to follow _him_, not the other way around.

She entered the elevator and Sherlock turned to speak, but with a sharp, "Shh!" from her, his mouth snapped shut. So he resolved to sulk. He crossed his

arms and stood stalk still as the elevator took them to the penthouse of the high-rise apartment building. Her foot tapped against the floor, making the hair on

the back of his neck stand up; after all, he was still high. Right before he thought he was about to strangle the woman before he even discovered who she

was, the elevator doors opened.

She walked straight ahead, leaving him behind her, _again_, he gritted his teeth in aggravation, leaving him to follow around behind her like a sulking child. She

flashed her security card from her purse in front of the scan on the door, and opened it quickly, waiting for him to step in. He did not. He stood there in the

hallway, his arms folded, his eyes narrowed, and wearing an expression of utter contempt._ Why should I follow her?_ His mind asked him petulantly. She looked

at him and rolled her eyes; in a tone of utter exasperation she exclaimed,

"Oh for gods sakes!" She stepped out of the doorway, grabbed him by the collar of his ratty shirt and yanked him into the flat. She shut and locked the door

behind him. "Honestly Sherlock you're worse than a four year old." She sighed, only her Serbian accent was no-where to be found, and was instead replaced

with an overwhelming American one. She turned to face him, only to find the man staring at her, his mouth slightly open, looking completely baffled. She gave

out a light laugh and moved past him, he snapped his mouth shut with an audible "click".

"Oh yeah, did I forget to tell you I'm not actually Serbian?" She flicked on the lights to the living room, revealing a very luxurious flat.

"How did I miss that?!" He muttered loudly. He ran both hands through his mess of long curly hair, it had become so overgrown in just four months, and he

couldn't be bothered to cut it.

"Because you're high!" She called from what he assumed was the kitchen. He let out a guttural growl, and stalked towards the sound of her voice. He noted

certain aspects of the flat as he walked by, like the old security camera stands in the corners of the ceilings, although there were no longer camera's in them.

_So she's under max surveillance, or __**used**__ to be. Why the false identity? Minimal possibility for her being a drug lord, although not entirely impossible. _

"So I'm guessing your name isn't Svetlana then?" He stood straight under the doorframe to the kitchen, and she leaned across the island between them to

answer.

"No, it's Sarah. My real name's Sarah." She smiled at him, and she looked more like the woman who had found him lying stoned in an abandoned warehouse,

not the woman who had just apparently threatened what he could only assume was an armed mobster. She started taking her hair down out of the pins her

long waves of dark brown hair cascaded down onto her shoulders. She stepped out of her heels and sighed, wriggling her toes against the tile.

"And how, _Sarah_, am I suppose to believe every syllable you utter isn't a lie?" He hissed as he stepped forward and leaned across the island towards her.

Again his proximity didn't faze her, in fact she leaned in closer, their noses were almost touching when she whispered,

"You don't." She smirked, and her eyes danced playfully. Sherlock pulled back immediately, slightly disgusted with the closeness he had just endured.

"But my name is Sarah, though. You really do smell awful, you know." Her nose wrinkled again, and Sherlock's eyes rolled. Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he

said in the most condescending tone he could muster,

"Somehow I don't seem to care." He stomped into the living room and flopped onto the long couch, lying on his back with his arms crossed on his chest,

pouting.

"Well I _do_ care if you smell like a homeless drug addict. And since you're not homeless anymore we can at least mark one of those things off the list." She

followed him into the living room, and stood above him, tapping her foot. Sherlock growled.

"Do you ever stop with that incessant tapping?!" He flexed his hands out in front of him, his eyes slammed shut and his jaw tight.

"When you've been a good boy I do." She teased lightly. Sherlock's whole body stiffened on the couch at the jab. _As if being dragged around Belgrade like a child _

_wasn't enough_. He let out a low growl that vibrated loudly through his whole body. Her eyebrows shot up as she saw his anger heighten to a new level.

"The bathrooms down the hall, I'll have some clothes ready for you when you're out." She turned and walked from the room. She had taunted him too much,

and she was all too familiar with the anger one could feel while high, and the actions that could follow the anger.

Sherlock lay on the couch for an hour, his hands steepled under his chin while he contemplated his options and let his temper simmer. _She knows too much _

_about me. __**How**__ does she know so much?! Mycroft doesn't even know what I'm up too specifically. She's not CIA, she obviously hasn't been formally trained. _

_Everything she's learned about deception has been self-taught, but she is clearly not a novice. She seems to be staging a coup singlehandedly from inside the Serbian _

_branch of Moriarty's network. __**How**__ is she doing that? Well obviously she's not; she's hunted me down to help her. "I can't do it without her" Ha. What a laughable _

_concept. I merely was at a temporary stand-by. She seems to be the one in need of my help. _His eyes flashed open as he heard the sound of her bare feet padding

down the hall. She poked her head around the frame and said in a cheery tone,

"I'm making tea, do you want any?" Her tone was persuasive, and he hadn't had a cuppa in months.

"Please," He murmured, with a small nod of his head. With that one little nod of his head it felt like his pride had shattered into a million bits. She turned,

seemingly pleased, and went into the kitchen, where she sang loudly. The noise made him want to claw his eyes out. He jumped up off the couch and trudged

down the hallway, he found the large bathroom on the left, and stepped in, starting the shower.

He stepped out, and remembered that she had yet to give him any new clothes, so he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out towards the kitchen.

His long hair was plastered against his neck, and the curls were already forming. She was sitting on top of the island in an oversized t-shirt, _most likely an old _

_boyfriend's_, he deduced, reading a book he couldn't see the title to. She looked up and he watched her eyes dilate slightly as she looked at his chest, she

cleared her throat loudly and exclaimed,

"Oh sorry! I didn't know you'd gone into the shower, lemme just grab you something." She popped off the end of the island and trotted back down the hall,

she returned a minute or so later clutching an oversized pair of men's grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, also too big. _Also an old boyfriends_, he noted.

_Perhaps not too old, they still smell disgustingly like bad cologne._

"I know these don't fit you, but we can pick you up some clothes that do fit tomorrow." She grimaced apologetically as she handed him the much too big

clothes.

"They're fine," he grumbled. He took the clothes and went back to the bathroom to change. When he came back there was a cup of weakly brewed tea sitting

on the coffee table. He looked at it scornfully.

"Do you actually know how to make tea? Or did you get this out of a puddle?" He called dryly from the couch. There was no way he was trying that.

She laughed and cameback in as she sat in an overstuffed chair across from him, "I'm American. We drink coffee. I have no idea how those little baggies work."

She settled into the chair. "I was just trying to be nice," She smirked at him and began to wait for the onslaught of questions he was sure to attack her with.

"Obviously. For the sake of my taste buds please fore-go any attempt at niceties in the future." He replied haughtily, pushing the cup back away from him on

the table. The shower had helped clear his brain from the high, and he was slowly returning to his normal state. He let out a sigh as he leaned back against

the couch. He stared at her for much longer than the normal person should. Then again he never did get a grasp on social norms; and waited for her to begin

with an expectant look to his face, like when a client came to him with a case. After all this was all she was in a way; a client. A very American, very annoyingly

toe-tapping client.

"Oh am I supposed to talk now?" She asked quizzically. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned forward toward him, _she has a habit of doing that_, he

noted. He gestured his long hand vaguely, in a kind of "be my guest", fashion.

She inhaled deeply, and began.

"I work in a part of the Serbian government that anyone who has any influence at all knows is run by Moriarty. Obviously he's dead now since he killed himself

at Barts," she waved a hand dismissively at this part, as if it was inconsequential.

"Anyway Sebastian Moran left Vigaand Morone in charge of the Serbian Sector. Vigaand is also the gentleman who has so _graciously_ given me this flat." Again

she gestured around the room, but this time in evident disgust. _Ah, so __**he's**__ whose clothes I'm wearing. Also explains the maximum security detail on her, she's a _

_mobster's girlfriend._

"I work as a PA to Vigaand, so you didn't get that part wrong," she added, with a nod towards him, "however he is yet to be aware of my skill set or intentions,

he just likes to look at what he calls, 'A pretty face.'" Again her voice was dripping in disgust, but she continued.

"Regardless, being one of his **many** pretty faces, and certainly his favorite, has entitled me to certain _privileges,_ you could say. For example, I have security

access codes to places most Prime Ministers aren't allowed in, and the authority to make the largest of men squirm at the thought of me telling Vigaand I'm

unhappy with them; like you saw me do earlier with the driver." She ran a hand across her thigh and drummed her nails nervously against it._ Added to file: she's _

_in an almost constant state of nerves, noted from the toe-tapping, nail drumming, and the tension in her back at the drug den earlier this morning._

"Vigaand obviously told him to follow me; I'm not supposed to go to drug dens anymore. I can just get them from some of Vigaand's men at much less danger

to my person." Her eyes flicked to her arms for a moment, and then flicked back to Sherlock. He, of course, noticed. _Added to file, still coping with a drug habit. _

_Must have been hard to come and get me earlier; no wonder she was so anxious to leave quickly._

"I've been gathering information about the network for two years. And I'm done waiting. I've done several small tests throughout the last 3 months or so. All

have gone relatively undetected, except for the removal of the security cameras and phones in here." She nodded to the corners of the room, where the

security camera stands remained.

"I just told Vigaand they made me feel 'self-conscious'" she gave a little snort of contempt, "He fell for it, he's remarkably thick to be running a country, but I

guess you could say that about most people that run countries."

"Anyway he upped my security around the place. But I'm not worried about him finding out about you, if the driver tries to say anything to him, I'll have him

killed for touching me before he can even finish a sentence."

She ran a hand through her loose waves, and continued. "I've been tracking you for months. I know you're brilliant, we heard all about you when you were still

alive in London, and when you jumped they all thought that was the end of it. But there were subtle changes around Belgrade once you were here. Things only

someone who was looking for you would notice, and I was looking for you." She paused, and Sherlock's brows rose in curiosity. He had been remarkably

careful in leaving no trace of his whereabouts.

"Such as?" He asked, waving his hand impatiently for her to go on.

"Such as the rumors that were flying around the dens of people who swore they saw Sherlock Holmes shooting up next to them the night before. You forget

Mr. Holmes, I was a frequent visitor to some of Belgrade's less desirable neighborhoods." She gave a small chuckle, and folded her arms back together,

pressing the scarred side into her abdomen.

"So you want me to help you dismantle the Serbian portion of Moriarty's network?" He asked condescendingly, he steepled his hands under his chin, and

looked down his nose at her.

"Look don't act like you're all high and mighty, you were lying in a _drug den_ when I finally stepped in to help you. You can't do this on your own and neither can

I, but both of us," she trailed off, her eyes glinted with excitement, and revenge. It startled him. She went from one extreme to the other, and it was hard for

him to keep up. She stood suddenly, not waiting for his answer.

"Look, I'm going to bed, I have a long night coming up and I need to not be running on adrenaline and coffee. Your bedrooms down the hall and on the left, but

I know you don't sleep, so there's a laptop on the island and a few books on the shelf." She pointed to a wall filled to the brim with old books and then added

with a touch more significance,

"Think it over, would you? I really think this could work if we both get our shit together." She gave a small laugh and padded off to her room, "Oh, and don't go

in my bedroom," she called, leaving Sherlock to process all that had just occurred. He steepled his hands under his chin and delved into his mind.

_Don't go into her bedroom? Why would I- oh. Drugs. She keeps her drugs in her bedroom. Edited: __**current**__ drug habit, not __**coping**__ with getting over one. __**Stupid**__, I _

_should have noticed the marks on her arms weren't old. Being mistress to Vigaand doesn't seem like her type of thing; surely she had other ways to go about _

_infiltrating the network. Oh of __**course**__, women aren't allowed in Vigaand's sector, at least not professionally. Well she's intelligent, she's played to her strengths in _

_getting this far, but she can't do it all by herself. I suppose the information she could give me is rather invaluable. Security access codes, schedules, etc. It would be _

_idiotic to not take advantage of her insight. But what is she __**hiding**__? There's something I can't see, but what is it?! _

He let out a growl of irritation as his thoughts drifted in and out, adding all the information he had just received to his Mind Palace took only minutes, and now

he was left sitting alone in the living room as the sun shone through the large windows.

He absentmindedly reached down and took a large drink from the tea that had gone cold on the table. He gagged and sloshed it all over himself in an effort to

get it away from him. He stuck his tongue out and made a retching noise,

"_Definitely_ pond water."


	3. Chapter 3

Authors Note: Hello loves! So this chapter is quite a bit of fluff, the first two were chalk full of information so I thought I'd lighten it up a bit. The plots going to thicken soon, but I don't want to lose the fun of domestic life with Sherlock. Although it's only mentioned briefly in this chapter, I'm going ahead and adding a trigger warning for cutting, just so that no one's taken by surprise. Hope all you lovelies enjoy the chapter, please fave and review! I live for them as a writer!

Nox

Disclaimer: I own only the characters I have created, and am not in any way affiliated with BBC

An Affair in Belgrade

Ch. 3

"Dear Lord Sarah we've been at this for hours, can we _please_ return to the flat now? If I have to look at one more flannel button up I swear I will call this whole thing off." Sherlock groaned melodramatically as he dragged his hands across his face in exhaustion. The woman in question was flitting between the racks of clothing in about the ten _millionth_ store she had drug him into. She had insisted on buying him an entire wardrobe, and was delighting in her new "doll" as she had called him earlier; which had in fact started a small row in the middle of one of the many department stores they had visited that day.

"Now now Shezza don't pout! Let me have a little fun spending my boss's money!" She laugh at his new alias and peeked up at him over a slightly over sized rack; her blonde wig framing her face and her newly blue eyes sparkling under the stores bright lighting. "And I told you we can't get you a suit, you will look too much like yourself. Besides, you look rather attractive in flannel." She said persuasively as she held up _yet another flannel._ Sherlock groaned at the sight of it.

"But what's the _point_ of what I'm wearing when no one's going to see me?" He sighed frustratingly as Sarah raised her eyebrows at him. He grumbled something about "looking like a lumberjack," as he shrugged on the flannel over the plain white t-shirt he had on.

"Well _I'm_ going to see you and if I wanted to look at someone ugly I would invite my boss over more often," she laughed as she turned her back to him to dive into a bin of flannels.

"About that," Sherlock began delicately; he had a feeling she wasn't going to release details about how she came to her position easily, so his questions all had to be asked in an underhanded fashion. "How did you get your job there in the first place?" his fingers ran absentmindedly down a black suit jacket on a dummy a little ways away from Sarah. He watched as her back muscles stiffened slightly at the question, but she continued to dig in the bin as she replied,

"Oh you know, the usual way I suppose; my friend gave me a recommendation lower down as a real secretary. Then I sorta worked my way up the ladder." _She's lying._ His mind told him. She grabbed a shirt that was a hideous shade of pink out from the bottom of the bin and turned to face Sherlock, she held it up with an expectant expression. "This is a good one, eh?" Sherlock thought he might retch just looking at it.

"Oh brilliant Sarah, if you're planning on introducing me to Belgrade's male strip clubs; I was unaware that many existed as a matter of fact." His droll statement was in sharp contrast to the seriousness of his expression, and Sarah laughed loud enough to attract the attention of several passers-by as she threw the shirt back into the bin.

"Fair enough," she laughed, "Still, I mean we're not dressing _you_, we're dressing Shezza. Maybe Shezza wears bright pink t-shirts." She continued to chuckle as she walked around more aisles filled with clothing that varied in shades of hideousness. He'd been living in her flat for almost two weeks when she had gotten "rather busy at the office", as she called it, and hadn't returned to the flat until two days ago, almost a full week after she'd left. She was rather high when she came back, leaving Sherlock to force her into bed after she tried to cut herself on the glass from a picture frame she'd thrown against the wall. After which she slept for almost a full 24 hours, awoke starving, and insisted they go shopping like she'd promised.

He went back through and cataloged the changes in her physique that he had noticed as soon as she showed up to the flat: _lost at least 5 pounds, her eyes are much more hollowed and she still has dark circles under them from when she first arrived. There are several new marks on her arms, from what I know now is from cutting. She snorts cocaine and cuts only when she's been with Vigaand as far as I can deduce, she doesn't talk about it, actually it seems that she pretends it didn't happen at all._

"Oi, Earth to Shezza?" she called loudly a few aisles back, she was holding a pair of jeans up and waiting for his opinion. He gave a heavy sigh and spoke in an exhausted tone,

"Sarah, I don't care. Can't we just buy something and leave?"He stared around the room completely perplexed; he had to figure out a way to get Sarah out of the department store as quickly as possible. Her face slid into a bit of a pout, her lower lip jutting out and her eyes darkening, the sparkle they had in them just five minutes before was gone.

"Yeah, sure. That's fine." She took the jeans and threw them across her arm, along with at least ten flannels that she'd been hoarding. Sherlock was amazed she didn't fall over to one side with the weight. She was silent until they walked out of the store, she was carrying only her purse and a hat that she'd bought for herself, and Sherlock stumbled along behind her, his arms filled with bags of clothes he neither wanted nor liked.

"We're just going to pop by the salon and get your hair cut, then we can go home," she spoke, as she walked half a step ahead of him down the pavement.

"What? No. No one's touching my hair Sarah." He said ardently, a hint of alarm tracing his voice. His hair was a soft spot for him, he only let Mrs. Hudson trim it back at the flat, there was no way on Earth he was letting some fresh-out-of beauty school Serb at it. She stopped and turned towards him, her laughter suppressed in her eyes at his tone of alarm.

"You have to get it cut at least, and you should really dye it. People are starting to stare at you, it's getting too long. You're starting to look like a girl," she snickered. It was too long, he conceded, but that doesn't mean he was letting some stranger experiment on it with scissors and permanent dye.

"Sarah I'm not letting a total stranger fiddle with my hair!"He said loudly, causing several strangers to walk farther around him. He attempted to raise his hands and almost dropped the bags on the concrete. She took a few away from him, lightening his load. "And there will certainly be no dying it!" He said in a final tone. He drew the line at his hair; clothes he could deal with, his hair was another thing entirely.

"Are you done throwing a hissy fit over your hair now?" She looked at him seriously, waiting for him to calm down from his mini-tantrum. He gave one small nod, like a child who was asked if he was ready to come from time-out. "Okay. Then we'll go back to the apartment and _I'll_ trim it." Sherlock's eyes grew as round as saucers,

"Sarah that's a horrible idea," he began, his voice filled with repressed panic. She cut him off with a firm,

"Sherlock I have cut hair before, and I'm not incompetent, despite what you seem to think. I won't ruin your hair and you have to have it cut, so either you let me do it or I'm taking you to a salon and some stranger can do it." She raised her eyebrows at him, and a stand-off ensued. People walked by them on either side of the pavement as they stared each other down. After a minute Sarah shifted her weight onto her hip and began tapping her foot impatiently. Sherlock groaned,

"For the love of God Sarah stop with that incessant foot tapping!" He stalked off in the direction of her flat, muttering to himself. Sarah remained still on the pavement as she called to him,

"Does that mean I get to do it?!"

"Fine, fine!" He called back exasperated, waving one hand in a defeated gesture.

Sarah gave a triumphant smile, and trotted along after him, bags in tow.

* * *

"Sarah be careful, I don't want it too sh-" She cut him off with a resounding

"Hush! I know how to cut hair Sherlock!" They were back in her flat, and Sherlock could not believe he was allowing her to cut his hair. Well, she hadn't actually cut anything yet, every time she was about to snip the scissors he shot off another instruction.

"I'm just warning you it's very thick!" He argued, his eyes angled back in an attempt to see what she was doing. She snickered loudly and said,

"Is that a fact?" at her own comment she seemed to laugh louder. _I don't understand_ he thought.

"What's so funny? Have I said something amusing?" he asked in an outraged tone. Sarah continued to laugh at his confusion, or at the joke, he couldn't tell which. _All I said was it was thick, I don't understand what is so fu-__** oh.**_

"Oh yes very mature Sarah, please try to keep your thoughts on my hair and out of the gutter." He said through gritted teeth, although a slight blush had crossed his face. At this point Sarah was laughing more at his embarrassment than the joke itself, and Sherlock's face was starting to turn pink from the mocking.

"I'm sorry it's just so _thick_," She joked in mock awe as she ran her fingers through his curls.

He sulked as he sat with his arms crossed in the chair, resolving not to talk to her the rest of the day at the least. She draped a towel around his neck as he tried not to think about how nice it felt to have her long fingers toying with his hair. His whole body stiffened when he heard the first snip of the scissors, and he watched in horror as one long curl fell down onto his front.

"Sarah I really don't think this is a good idea," he started in a panic, _was she really going to cut off __**that**__ much?!_

"It's going to be fine!" she soothed. She alternated between running her fingers through his hair and cutting it, because even though he would never admit it to her, she knew he found it relaxing.

An hour later Sherlock Holmes was lying on the couch sulking from his hair cut, refusing to admit that she had done a half-way decent job. Not like Mrs. Hudson of course, but she hadn't ruined him. Sarah was quite pleased with herself, and she had left him to sulk on the couch as she sat in her favorite over-stuffed chair and read. She had turned on some light classical music that was playing over a speaker system that ran through the flat, and a violin piece filtered through quietly. She looked up to see if Sherlock was still pouting, only to see him playing an invisible violin to the music. She watched him for a few moments, his eyes were closed and he looked the most peaceful she'd ever seen him. After awhile she returned to her book, lest he notice her watching him, and she wondered how different he had been back in London.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello! So sorry for the hiatus on this chapter, family drama is the number one killer of creativity, and I was at a loss on where to go. The next few chapters may be a bit sporadic in their upload times, but I promise I'm still writing them, and the story isn't dead! Thanks for the patience dearies!

Nox

An Affair In Belgrade

Ch. 4

Sherlock lay on the sofa; his hands steepled under his chin as he listened to Sarah get ready in the bathroom down the hall. She was taking quite a bit longer than usual, and it sounded like she was making a mess as the sound of plastic hitting tile echoed through the flat, along with her cry of "Shit!"

His thoughts ran through all the information she had given him. She had managed to collect the security code to Vigaand's office from his phone, but the code changed every three weeks, giving them both a limited amount of time to plan and execute a break into his computer.  
Sarah had informed him last night that their best option was going to be the next Sunday, as Vigaand would be visiting his wife, and Sarah could schedule the security camera maintenance crew to begin their work while Sherlock was inside the building. That way it would be relatively expected for the camera footage to cut out for a small window of time. Perfect for Sherlock to break into Vigaand's files and extract any information he could gather.

Sarah walked into the living room in a pencil skirt that landed mid-thigh, and a pink blouse. Her makeup looked heavier than normal and her hair had been meticulously curled, so that it framed her face perfectly. Her blouse was also lower cut than usual, and her breasts shimmered with some sort of powder. Sherlock's gaze lingered for an instant, before flashing up from her chest, and he cleared his throat awkwardly,

"Vigaand is taking you out tonight." He said in a matter of fact tone; his voice was slightly raspy, and he realized he hadn't spoken in several hours.

Sarah tucked a curl behind her ear and cleared her own throat, her nervousness breaking through just for a moment as she replied with an anxious,  
"Yes." She turned her back to him and fiddled with something in her purse.

_Drugs._ Sherlock guessed. In the light and with her back turned toward him, he could faintly make out the slight shadows of what remained of the hand shaped bruises that covered her arms and thighs just a week ago. Most had faded to nothing, but the darker ones had remained. It made his stomach churn, and he bit his tongue in an effort to suppress the feeling.  
_Shut up Sherlock, she knows what she's doing._ He chided angrily to himself. There was no need in worrying about her. She was a grown woman, after all.

Sarah turned to face him, and had seemed to compose herself as she gave him a reassuring smile.

"It's going to be fine Sherlock. You don't need to worry. I'll be back before next Sunday, I just don't know when, exactly." She turned and walked back towards her room and Sherlock muttered,  
"It's not Sunday I'm worried about." He ran his hands through his hair again, his teeth gritted together in irritation. _Surely there's another way for her to get information. She's just going to come home beaten and high again_, his thoughts were cut off as Sarah walked back into the room, obviously holding something large behind her back.

"I know it's not nearly as nice as the one you had in London." She spoke suddenly, "Hell, I picked it up at a second rate music store. But I thought maybe you'd like it, for when I'm gone…" She trailed off awkwardly, and revealed a violin and its bow from behind her.  
She looked slightly sheepish, as she extended the instrument in front of her. Sherlock had actually never been so happy to see a violin in his whole life. He'd taken to playing an invisible one when he thought she wasn't looking; but quite obviously she _had_ seen him.

"Sarah, I" he started, his mouth slightly open as he stared at the violin. His loss for words surprised even himself, and with a slightly blasé movement of the instrument Sarah added,

"I know you hate sentiment so just take it." She stared at him expectantly, waiting for the man to take the instrument and retreat to his room to sulk, as he usually did when she left. What happened next shocked the two of them; Sherlock took the instrument from Sarah delicately, leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you," he murmured to her softly, before retreating to his room.

Sarah stood in the middle of the floor, her eyes wide, as she puzzled over what had just happened.

* * *

Sherlock heard the front door close quietly as she left a few minutes later. _What the hell did I just do?_  
He paced anxiously around his room, the violin tucked under his arm as he stopped to look out the window, just in time to see her climb into a black car that was waiting for her. The car drove off quickly, leaving Sherlock with a bitter taste in his mouth. He lifted up the violin and began to play, channeling all of his anger and worry and sorrow into the music he had missed so dearly.

Hours later he ventured out into the kitchen to fix himself a cuppa. He had had to brew his own for months since Sarah was completely incompetent at brewing tea. He went to fill the kettle with water when he saw the remnants of several bags of cocaine she had dumped down the sink, along with a note that read in a quick scrawling writing, _**I'm trying to quit**_.

_She'll be singing a different tune when she comes home_, he thought bitterly. Having struggled with his own detox the first month; he had gone back to cigarettes to cope with leaving behind the heroin. She was right when she told him it wasn't helping his mind like he thought it was, so he would stick to nicotine.

He trudged into her room after he put the kettle on, and dug through the drawers where she kept her stash. His mind kept flashing back to when Lestrade would send in his goons to search his flat, or worse, when Mycroft would search for Sherlock's drugs himself. He gritted his teeth, but his jaw relaxed slightly when he realized she had truly gotten rid of it all.

He replaced her jumbled items to their rightful spots, and shut the drawer with a thump. He looked around her room sullenly, familiarizing himself yet again with the stiffening silence that filled the flat when she was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

It feels so good to be updating again! This chapter is pretty long, seeing as the last was so short. I'll be listing Trigger Warning's under my authors note for all the following chapters, as I expect them to get pretty dark. This chapter's basically a giant tease, so enjoy! The next chapter will be about the eagerly awaited break-in of Vigaand's office, so we'll see if they pull it off or not! Hope you all enjoy Reviews/Follows/Faves are GREATLY appreciated!

XOXO

Nox

An Affair in Belgrade

Chapter 5

She'd been gone for four days, 6 hours and 29 minutes.  
_Not like I've been counting_, Sherlock thought bitterly to himself as he paced anxiously back and forth from each end of the living room. Irrational parts of his mind were being given free reign with nothing to distract him; Sarah's voice usually filled the flat and allowed his thoughts to focus on constructive ideas, not gruesome images of Sarah being beaten in a black car somewhere, as they were now.

He let out a growl of irritation as he hissed to himself, "Where the hell is she?!" He slammed his fist against the wall in frustration. He'd done everything he could think of to keep his mind off of her. He'd planned out their break-in to Vigaand's office to the most microscopic detail, he'd catalogued all of her books, played his violin so much it even made _him_ sick, and reorganized all of her drawers and closets in his preferred method.

At this point the Sunday of the planned break in was only two days away, and Sherlock felt confident that they could pull it off, _If Sarah would just show up_, he added tersely. His stomach grumbled loudly, and he looked down at it in surprise. When was the last time he'd eaten? Sherlock couldn't remember and decided that it was best to eat at least a little, since he couldn't remember what he ate last, let alone when.

He stalked into the kitchen and was attempting to make spaghetti. He had Sarah's cookbook out on the island, planning on simply following the instructions and then having at least a somewhat edible dinner. _How hard could spaghetti be? John used to make it all the time, and if he could make it I should have no trouble._ He rummaged in the cabinets for some pasta and set a pan of water on to boil. He assessed his work thus far with satisfaction,

"There. That wasn't difficult. Why was John always complaining about doing the cooking?" He said to himself smugly, as he returned to the cookbook.

An hour late Sherlock was cursing loudly and trying to clean off the 2nd attempt at spaghetti sauce he had made. Sarah hadn't had any jarred sauce, but she had had plenty of the raw ingredients, so Sherlock saw no issue in making the sauce himself. He had completely scorched the first batch, as he got distracted with the pot of noodles that were boiling over and left the sauce on high instead of the instructed "medium to low." After dumping that whole pot in the sink and scalding himself in the process, he was determined to try it again. He was not going to be bested by a simple spaghetti recipe. However now it seemed he had skipped a step in the instructions, as it tasted awful. He had no idea what he'd done wrong, and he cursed in fury as he dumped the second pot into the sink along with the first.

He had just sat down on the couch of the dark living room, with a bowl full of cold plain noodles when he heard the familiar beep of the security code on the front door. Sarah opened it quietly; and he remembered it was close to four in the morning. She turned slowly to flick on the light and her eyes went wide with surprise to see him sitting in the dark, with what looked like plain noodles.

His eyes immediately took in the damage. And it was just as ugly as it was last time; except most of the damage seemed to be on her face as opposed to her legs and arms. There was dried blood running down from her swollen and seemingly broken nose, and a heavy bruise covered her left cheekbone. Her mascara had run down her face, but her eyes were alert. _Alert and hungry_, he added to himself. She hadn't done any cocaine. At least not tonight. _Oh but she wants to,_ he thought. Her hands were twitching and her eyes had a crazed look to them. He could feel the tension radiating off of her as she walked further into the room.

"Sherlock I need one of your cigarettes," she spoke shakily, her voice seemed to be raspy from crying, and anger bubbled inside him with such force that he was surprised he didn't break the bowl he was holding between his hands. He got up silently and went to his room, collecting the pack she had bought for him earlier that week, and returned to her. She had slid down the side of the wall and was leaning back with her eyes closed, her hands clenched at her sides in an effort to keep them from shaking. He knelt down to her level and handed her a cigarette and lighter, and she attempted to light it herself several times, only to curse and slam her head back against the wall in frustration.

"Here," Sherlock began softly, "let me help you." He took the lighter and lit the cigarette she held in her mouth, and then sat on the ground beside her. She took a long drag and exhaled in relief, Sherlock's senses heightened at the smell of the cigarette, but he didn't take one.

"It's not broken," she told him, referring to her nose. Her eyes were closed and her head leaned back, "it always looks worse than it is." She took another drag, and her hands relaxed, "Except for this," she turned her head so he could see her cheek where the dark blue and black bruise was, and where Sherlock now noticed was a small gash from what looked like a ring. "This hurt pretty bad."

He raised his palm up and caught her face in his hand gently, keeping it turned so he could examine the wound. Her face was flushed from her need of cocaine, _but wait, had it been that red earlier? She actually looked rather pale when she came in,_ he thought to himself quickly. He could feel the heat of her cheek warm the palm of his hand, and his gaze moved to her eyes.

They were big and green, and he noted the flecks of brown he had never seen in them before. They were red around the edge from crying, and her eyelashes were thick and dark. His hand felt like it was on fire, but he didn't move it. He could feel her breath on his face, and his lips parted of their own accord. His mind was running a million miles an hour, he was cataloging everything; the way her eyes dilated when his thumb brushed her cheek, the way her skin felt under his palm and how his heart rate elevated with every breath, and so did hers.  
His brow furrowed slightly with the curiousness of the sensations that were flooding through him, and he leaned in slightly; every sense he had heightened and aware. Her eyes widened when he leaned in, and she pulled away from him suddenly, clearing her throat awkwardly and getting up, the cigarette still in her hand. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but then retreated to her room, leaving Sherlock sitting in the floor with his palm burning and his mind racing with new and terrifying thoughts.

He had no idea how long he'd sat there, his mind running faster than it ever had. Faster than when he was on a case, faster than when he first started using heroin, faster than he could ever remember it being. But no matter how fast it ran nothing was computing. Had he been about to kiss her?_ No. No surely not. Sentiment is for the losing side. I would never succumb to such weak urges as that. _But if he hadn't been about to kiss her, what had just happened? All he could remember was the heat. He felt so hot and tense and yet utterly relaxed at the same time. He had no data to compare this with, nothing was testable, nothing was solid. And eventually he wore himself out sitting in the floor and thinking. He went into his room and collapsed onto his bed, where he fell into a fitful sleep, filled with burnt spaghetti sauce and green eyes.

Sarah lay on her bed, her eyes wide and staring blankly at the ceiling. She had no clue how it happened that Sherlock's face was suddenly inches from hers, his palm cupping her bruised cheek so softly and his breath caressing hot on her face. All she knew was that it was bad, it was all very bad, and she had to remove herself from the situation before bad became worse. She was still suffering the consequences of the last time she'd gotten attached.  
Well, she wasn't going to let that happen again. She'd learned her lesson. She rolled over and drifted to sleep, determined that she would pretend that nothing had happened the next day.

She was leaning over him, her wavy hair falling in his face as he pushed a piece behind her ear. Her pupils were so dilated he could barely make out the flecks of brown that seemed to melt in her eyes. His hands were on her waist as he slid them down to her thighs, she leaned forward and her soft lips met his firm ones. Her breath traced against his lips as his opened to meet hers. His hands gripped her thighs tightly, causing her to yelp out in pain. Reflexively his hands shot away from her as she pulled away from him, a look of pure hurt in her dark eyes. He looked down to her thighs and saw dark bruises in the shapes of his hands covering them.

Sherlock jolted awake, sitting upright with the sheet tangled around him angrily. His palms were sweating and he couldn't get the image of her eyes filled with hurt and distrust out of his mind. It was burning him, and he hurried to the bathroom to splash water on his face. Only then did he look down to notice the bulge in his pants, and his face burned with embarrassment at his own crudeness. He quickly took a shower to get a hold of himself, all the while trying to forget the look in her eyes.

Sarah had heard the shower running and had tiptoed past the bathroom in order to start the coffee pot. The awkwardness of last night was becoming unbearable, and she was beginning to wonder how difficult it would be to avoid Sherlock in the flat. The answer of course was it would be very difficult and that she was being a baby.

"Nothing happened, so stop being stupid." She told herself as she started the coffee. "He probably isn't even thinking about it; who knows how his mind works." She gave herself a little shake for worrying over it so much, but then gave a gasp of surprise as Sherlock's voice came from behind her.

"You're not stupid." He spoke low, in a deep baritone that she had never been more aware of until that moment. She kept her back turned toward him so that he would not see the flush rise to her cheeks at being overheard. "And you're right. Nothing happened." He added with a tone of decisiveness, and he turned and walked back to his room to change.

The rest of the morning was spent in semi-awkward silence. Well, it was a normal silence from Sherlock, but Sarah didn't sing about the house like usual, and she didn't attempt to make small talk with him. Finally Sherlock sighed and looked up at her, sprawled across the couch, reading a book.

"Sarah you do know we're going to have to speak in order to break apart Moriarty's network, don't you? Unless you'd like to start using Morse code, but I think that would be rather impractical." He couldn't bare her silence. He had to deal with it enough when she wasn't home, but he didn't think he could stomach it when she was laying three feet away from him.

She looked up from her book and her gaze pierced right through him. It was sad and guilty and regretful, and he decided he never wanted to see that look in her eyes again. Almost as much as he never wanted to see the look of distrust and hurt he had seen in them the night before in his dream.

"I'm sorry about last night. I just, didn't know what to do." She spoke timidly, which was something she rarely did. She tightened her arms around herself instinctively, which Sherlock noticed she did when she felt vulnerable or uncomfortable.

"Don't mention it," he said gruffly. It irritated him that she seemed so frightened of this conversation. And if it was going to be such an ordeal he would rather just not have the conversation in the first place. He was doing his damndest to forget about last night, and he didn't need her tiptoeing around him to remind him of it.

"So. Walk me through the plan for tomorrow morning again." He said curtly, his palms steepled under his chin as he leaned forward, determined to put all thoughts of the night before out of his head. He was here to dismantle the Serbian network, not lose his senses to a woman with impossibly green eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Hello! How'd you like that last chapter? I couldn't resist teasing you all a bit! Well this one's going to be filled with more action, since we're finally at the office break-in! Thanks for the favorites and follows, I really appreciate them! Feel free to drop reviews for me, they're really affirming as a writer! Hope you all enjoy!

TW: Physical, Verbal, and Sexual Abuse

An Affair in Belgrade

Ch. 6

After running through the plan at least a dozen times the night before, both Sarah and Sherlock were confident that they could pull of the break-in without a hitch, as long as nothing drastic happened. Everything was as it used to be, except Sherlock was shorter than usual with her, and Sarah held her arms to her chest the whole night.

After they could both recite the plan forwards and backwards there seemed to be nothing else to talk about. The silence infuriated Sherlock, as he was making an effort to pretend nothing had happened he had expected Sarah to not make it so awkward between the two of them. Frustrated and confused, he had stomped off to his room without so much as a "goodnight" to Sarah, and slammed the door behind him.  
Sarah sighed on the couch and tightened her arms against her chest. This was the opposite of pretending nothing had happened she thought to herself. She got up slowly and padded down the hallway, stopping at Sherlock's room and looking at his door, wanting to say something to him. She had no idea what it

* * *

would be, so she walked to her room and shut the door.

Sherlock heard her pause outside of his room, and he felt ashamed of himself that his heart rate picked up. Was she going to say something to him? He stood next to the window, his body frozen as he waited for her to speak or to knock on the door. His shoulders sagged when he heard her walk away, and he flopped himself down on his bed, his hands running through his hair agitatedly. He laid awake the rest of the night, images of John and Molly and Mrs. Hudson running through his mind like they always did, but now Sarah's face was with theirs; or rather, her eyes were with theirs. They were still filled with hurt and distrust like they had been in his dream; and it haunted him.

Sherlock didn't notice the time passing; he never did. So when Sarah knocked on his door it snapped him out of his mind palace, where he was attempting to sort through the jumble of thoughts that kept tormenting him.

"Sherlock?" She said quietly from the other side of the door.  
He said nothing, he just lay on the bed, thinking.

* * *

"Sherlock it's almost time to go." She knocked again, and when there was still no answer, she opened the door slightly and poked her head around the corner. She sighed when she saw him lying on the bed, his mind obviously running a million miles an hour. His eyes were closed and his hair stuck out in different directions, the curls tangling amongst themselves from when he was agitated and had run his hands through it multiple times. She stood in the doorway for a minute, before walking softly into the room. She sat on the edge of the bed next to him, and seemed to hesitate on what she should do next. He still hadn't acknowledged her, and he had kept his eyes closed.

She usually avoided bothering him when he was in his mind palace, honestly she didn't want to deal with his mood if she brought him out of it, but now she had no choice. They needed to get everything together before they left, and they would be late if he didn't get around.

She let out a sigh, and reached a hand out to run it through his hair. He stiffened immediately, and let out a small hiss of agitation, but she kept going. Her fingers twisted around the curls and her nails gently ran down his scalp. This was the least offensive way she could think of to bring him from his mind palace, and she tried to repress the instinct to whip her hand away when he hissed at her. His body relaxed slightly, and a low grumble issued from him.

Sherlock knew she was there the whole time. And he supposed it was childish, but he was angry with her, so he ignored her several attempts to speak to him. When she sat down on the bed, his body was very aware of how close she was to him, and the hairs on his arms stood on end. Suddenly her hand was in his hair, and his whole being wanted to reject the contact. He hissed at her in warning, but she didn't quit, and just as soon as his body had stiffened to her touch, it had relaxed. It sent a tingle down his spine when her nails gently scraped his scalp, and he opened his eyes. Her hand stilled in his hair when his eyes made contact with hers.

There was something in his eyes that startled her, and she withdrew her hand and got up from the bed with a quick, "You need to get ready." She padded out of the room suddenly and went back into her own.

_Why does she always do that?!_ Sherlock thought in frustration, _anytime anything happens she runs away!_ He ran his fingers through his hair again as he sat up, and he let out of growl of frustration. _Why is she so difficult? If she didn't want to talk to me why would she do that stupid finger thing she knows I like? Wait- __**do**__ I like it? Well, I suppose it's not __**unpleasant**__ per se._

"Ridiculous woman," he muttered as he got up and walked into the bathroom. She had laid out the hair gel he was supposed to use to smooth his curls back, and the contact case that would make his eyes brown. It took him at least twenty minutes to get his unruly hair to smooth back on his head completely, and he walked out of the bathroom to see Sarah waiting for him.

"Alright, I'm going to go. I'm already late." She said as she dug around in her purse, noticing that he'd come into the room through her peripheral vision. She looked up to hand him something when her eyebrows rose. He looked very handsome. Not like he wasn't before, but his hair was slicked back and he was clean shaven. He was in a plain black t-shirt and jeans, and he looked, well, _gorgeous_.

Sarah cleared her throat and tried to maintain her composure, she'd already made things awkward without her gawking at him now.

"Here's your Bluetooth. I always wear one when I'm at work, so if anything goes wrong you can get a hold of me. I'll also give you the go ahead like we planned on." Her palm was outstretched as he walked towards her. He noticed the way her eyebrows rose, and when his fingers brushed her palm to pick up the device, her face flushed slightly. He placed the device in his ear, and nodded tersely at her, then headed out the front door and down the stairs, leaving Sarah in the living room.

* * *

Sarah was riding silently in the back of the car when she heard Sherlock call her through her Bluetooth. She answered it in Serbian, and she briefly remembered how lucky they were Sherlock spoke the language.

"I'm here, but I don't see the maintenance crew," Sherlock said roughly in Serbian.

"They're not scheduled to arrive until nine this morning" she replied, glancing forward at the driver who was paying her no attention.

"Sarah, it's nine thirty," he hissed, tension breaking through his voice. Sarah's eyebrows rose as she checked her watch; it was actually a quarter till ten.

"Oh, you know those imbecile workers, they never arrive on time." She pretended to remain cool and unaffected, but she was worried. The maintenance crew knew who they were working for, and they would know better than to arrive late.

"Change of plans Sarah, I'll see you inside." Sherlock said suddenly, and he hung up. Sarah's jaw fell open slightly; they both agreed to stick with the plan, but she should have known he wouldn't if he came so close to winning the game and then had to give up. Sarah quickly called the maintenance crew and demanded to know why they were late, but the secretary of the firm kept insisting someone had called last night and canceled the appointment. When she demanded who, the only reply she got was,

"He never gave his name miss, but he said he was Mr. Vigaand's supervisor," at this Sarah's eyes grew round. She muttered a thank you before hanging up, and was thankful they had arrived at the office. She got out and called Sherlock back, and when he didn't answer, she thought the worst.

She hurried into the office and took the elevator up to the top floor, her foot tapping anxiously on the ground. It seemed like they had to stop at every floor to let someone on or off, but eventually she reached the office. She walked about ten feet before she felt the uneasiness run up her spine. The same feeling as when you feel someone following you. She walked quickly to the door and swiped her security card, and as she pushed the door open to the waiting room, she saw a man in a black suit sitting on the sofa. She knew him from when Vigaand would be called away from her on their outings. She would always hear shouting issuing from a man with a very low voice, and once she glimpsed him from behind. She had no doubt who this man was. It was Sebastian Moran.

A chill washed over her as she stood in the doorway. She tried to collect herself as she walked towards her desk, smiling at the terrifying man sitting across from it.

"Good morning, sir. My apologies for being so late, the traffic was a mess. Do you have an appointment?" She sat ramrod straight in her chair, with the best appearance of a secretary she could muster.

"Don't play coy with me Ms. Bradley." He gave her a sly grin, showing his ugly teeth; he had had some of them replaced with gold. Sarah's eyes widened at the use of her last name. Her _married_ last name. Sebastian stood up, and his figure seemed to fill the room. He was big, very bulky and tall, but obviously fit.

"I don't know what you mean, sir." She responded politely in Serbian. She reached down and took her phone out of her pocked from under the desk, and she started to text Sherlock, never breaking eye contact with Moran.

_**Get out.**_

She sent it quickly, and pushed the phone back into her pocket. Sebastian was walking slowly towards her and was suddenly standing across the desk from her. She could smell his disgusting cologne as he leaned forward towards her. She struggled to keep her expression composed, but she let out a cry when his hand gripped her jaw tightly.

"There now, that's better. Now I don't have to listen to any more of your **lies**!" He shook her head hard for emphasis, and she let out a small whimper of fear that shook her to the core. "Oh yes Ms. Bradley I know exactly who you are. Wife of James Bradley, who as I recall got pretty caught up in our drug ring, did he not?" He smirked at the look of hatred that crossed over her face, and in response tightened his grip on her jaw. Sarah felt like it was about to break.

"Well, since you don't seem to be able to tell the story right now, **I** will. Mr. Bradley seemed to have gotten in a little too deep with the wrong kind of people. _People who didn't pay back what they owed me_." He paused slightly, "I don't like those people." He explained, like he was talking to a child.

"So I arranged a little _meeting_ you could say, with Mr. Bradley." He ran his thumb across her mouth and Sarah attempted to bite his finger. "None of that! Stupid bitch!" His other hand came so fast Sarah barely had time to realize it before it slammed onto her right cheek. She thought her eye would explode from the pressure of it before the worst part subsided.

"As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me. I of course didn't meet with your dear husband. No, I sent in my most promising dog, Vigaand." He smirked again; his gold teeth glimmered from the saliva and the light. "Well, Vigaand told him that if he didn't have all of his debts paid by the end of the week, he'd be sleeping with the fishes!" Moran rolled his eyes,

"I know, I know, cliché. But it worked on your little spineless husband. Of course he wasn't that spineless after all, he hid _you_ from us for _ages!_" He let out an amused chuckle, although he was obviously not amused.

"So the week past and James hadn't paid back his money. So I sent Vigaand in and I had him shoot him like a dog. Not before he beat him like one before of course," He added, with a twisted grin. "Vigaand said he begged like a woman to be killed." His eyes narrowed to take in every inch of Sarah's horror filled face. Her eyes were filled to the brim with tears, and it took everything she had to contain them.

"So, there you were, widowed and left with nothing after your husband had been killed! Well, you had quite a bit of spunk, I'll give you that! Getting a job as a secretary to fuck the man who killed your husband? Filthy Whore!" He walked around the side of the desk, his grip still firm on her jaw, and he lifted her up and pushed her against the wall. His knee edged between her legs, as he lifted her off the floor with one hand around her neck, effectively cutting off her oxygen.

Sarah kicked hard, aiming for his groin and finding his knee instead, but he didn't let go. She fought against him but eventually the lack of oxygen was catching up with her. He was allowing her gasping breaths every few seconds, but it wasn't enough to put up a fight with.

"Now now, you know you're not getting out of this, so quit fighting so hard. You'll only die faster, and I relish the thought of killing you." He bent his head down to suck at a spot just under her jaw, and Sarah gagged. "It is a waste though," he added, "you are a fine piece of ass." He took both of her hands in one of his, and pinned them above her head on the wall.

"We can still have a little fun between the two of us before I slit your pretty little throat, right?" His hold on her neck tightened, and she choked. Moran's hand slid underneath her skirt and just as she thought she'd black out, a loud slam issued from across the room, and the door broke open. Moran released his grip on her neck, and she slid down in a crumpled heap on the floor, half strangled and gasping for air.

Sherlock busted through the door at the sound of Moran's voice issuing from the room.

"Sorry, three's a bit of a crowd, don't you think?" Sherlock said lazily as he stepping into the room. Moran took out his gun immediately, and pointed it straight at Sherlock's chest. Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh, and quickly revealed his own gun, pointing it at Moran.

"Oh Lord I knew you'd be boring. Not nearly as entertaining as Moriarty, are you?" Sherlock rolled his eyes in an attempt to look nonchalant as he tried to make eye contact with Sarah, who seemed almost unconscious on the floor.

"Perhaps. But much more willing to just shoot you and get it over with. I don't play games." Moran snarled, as he racked the gun back.

Sarah let out a small whimper from the other side of the room as Sherlock racked back his own gun and said threateningly,

"Nor do I."


End file.
